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“I’m sorry,” Kun apologized for the umpteenth times that day, but like every other times before, Marcos hung up on him.
It had been something, to wake up one morning and discover private pictures of himself published in the media. He wasn’t self-conscious but he had had no desire to share his dick with the rest of the world. Actually, the only person he’d meant to share these pictures with had been Kun. He’d sent them to him in exchange of some shots of Kun’s very own little Johnny, and judging by Kun’s delayed answer (a whole 1 minute and 12 seconds), he’d had made good use of those pictures.
Now, this didn’t explain why his dick was all over the internet. Those pictures had been meant for Kun and for no one else.
His first reaction had been to call his boyfriend, worried that his phone had been hacked, and what else could have been stolen? He knew Kun had some nudes on his own and he would hate to see them in the media. Even more worrisome – there were a few video of the two of them together, and while Marcos wasn’t ashamed of his body he absolutely didn’t want to deal with all the trouble that would come with being outed and the likes.
Like the good boyfriend he was, he called Kun, asked if he was fine, if anything else had been stolen from him, if he knew who it was-- and started having doubts when Kun remained surprisingly silent.
“About that-” Kun had mumbled, guilt evident in his voice.
“What have you done?” Marcos had immediately answered.
“Well I-- I mean, the other day, I went out with David and Pablo, we had a few drinks and I kinda--” He’d let his voice trail and Marcos had known he was biting his lips.
“What?”
“There was this fan of Manchester City, and he was super happy to see us – I think, I did not understand everything he said, but he did mention my name with a big smile so I-”
“Get to the point,” Marcos had snapped.
“So, he started badmouthing Manchester United, and its players, so I said, ‘no Marcos Rojo! Marcos Rojo good!’” Kun had said in accented English. It would have been funny, if Marcos hadn’t been filled with dread. “And he said you were shit so we started arguing.”
“That’s sweet but get to the point,” Marcos had ordered.
“I wanted to show him you were great,” Kun had pleaded in a sorry voice. “I just wanted him to acknowledge that you were the man. I didn’t think-”
“Wait,” Marcos had cut in. “Are you telling me you gave the nudes I sent you to a stranger in a bar?”
“I was drunk,” Kun had apologized. “I didn’t think he’d sell them-”
“Of course he’d sell them! Why wouldn’t he-- I can’t believe it.”
Kun had protested but that was the moment Marcos had chosen to hung up on him.
–
A whole week passed, and Marcos ignored each and every attempts Kun made to reach out to him. Didn’t answer his texts or his calls, ignored his pitiful voicemails, stared at the few teammates that had come over to change his mind until they left.
He did admire Kun’s determination though. On Friday night he received a text from none other than Lionel Messi, king of everything he thought he was king of.
Will you answer Kun already, the text said.
Marcos snorted and texted back, Why do you even care?
He keeps calling me to cry about it, it’s annoying. Make it stop.
Marcos couldn’t repress a grin. More than a dictator, Marcos tended to see Leo as a spoiled brat. Not that he’d tell the guy but the thought was here.
Despite having received direct orders from his captain, Marcos didn’t answer Kun’s next call, and even felt some vicious joy at the thought than Kun would probably go crying about it to Leo. Served both of these fat-assed midgets well.
–
Marcos wasn’t that upset about the pictures. It was annoying, for sure, and he couldn’t say he was happy about the fact it had reached his parents’ ears. But he had nothing to hide or be ashamed of, and he was merely angry at whoever had decided to unveil parts of his intimacy. These pictures had been private, it’d been his to give or take.
He didn’t resent Kun either, because he knew the man was naive when sober and so he was a straight-up disaster when drunk, the alcohol more effective than any truth serum would ever be. Marcos found he was angrier at the stranger that had gotten his hands on these pictures, that had taken advantage of Kun’s big eyes and easy nature, that had grabbed secrets from their private life and had thrown them in the open so that everyone could see. This man, this man Marcos was mad at, and if he ever met that jerk he’d be sure to let him know.
As for Kun, he knew their feud wouldn’t last, but for now it wouldn’t hurt to let Kun grovel a bit. If Marcos was being honest with himself, it was kinda nice, that Kun kept reaching for him, when a few months ago all he cared about was whether Leo would allow him to watch him shit.
–
Kun showed up at 23:48 on a Monday. He was wearing jeans and a stupid NY caps, though the most shocking thing about him was the large bouquet he held in his hands.
Marcos leaned against the door frame.
“What is this,” he deadpanned.
“For you,” Kun said, wide-eyed. Not that it was uncommon – Kun was always wide-eyed, in a perpetual state of confusion. What a fucking cow.
“Can you saw moo?”
“What?” Kun asked, blinking a few times and looking supremely confused.
“Nevermind.” Marcos grinned. “Did you pick those flowers yourself?”
“Yeah,” Kun confirmed, nodding and looking a bit proud of himself.
“You know those are chrysanthemum right?”
From Kun’s face, he did not know.
“It’s the flowers you put on people’s grave. What’s the message here?”
Kun blinked a few times and took a look at his giant bouquet. “I didn’t-- I just thought they were pretty, shit, I’ll buy some-”
“Don’t bother,” Marcos stopped him, grabbing his collar to keep him from running away. He took the flowers from his hands. “Here, give me.”
He turned around and made his way to his kitchen, leaving his door open to allow Kun to come in. Kun didn’t miss that opportunity and he followed him inside. Marcos could hear his clumsy steps right behind him, reminding him of a duckling following its mother. He stopped suddenly just to have Kun smash into his back, before resuming his walk to the kitchen.
Kun didn’t learn from past mistakes, and followed him just as closely.
Marcos had never really received flowers before. He wasn’t sure what to do with the bouquet but he thought putting them in a vase looked about right. As long as Kun didn’t notice he knew shit about flowers, it was alright.
“So,” Marcos said once he was done, turning over to lean back against his sink.
Kun was standing uselessly in the middle of this kitchen, hands loose at his sides and wide eyes watching him. Kun glanced a few times at Marco’s chest and crotch, making Marcos grin inwardly. He was wearing nothing more than gray sweatpants, and his boludo looked a bit bothered by that.
He then grinned outwardly because there was no point in being smug if he couldn’t rub it in anyone’s face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I,” Kun mumbled, shuffled. “I’m sorry. About the pictures.”
Marcos hummed.
“I didn’t mean- I’m kind of, angry too.”
“Oh?”
Kun frowned, seemingly confused by his own train of thought.
“I think I’m not happy because everyone saw you naked,” he said.
“You think?”
Kun’s brows furrowed even more.
“Don’t hurt yourself thinking,” Marcos piped in, earning himself another confused look from Kun, followed by an indignant glare.
“I won’t!” Kun protested. “It’s just, those pictures were for me, not for everyone!”
“Well you should have thought of that before showing them to some random dude in a bar.”
“I know,” Kun mumbled, shoulders sagging. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Marcos studied Kun’s face as he quieted down, putting his fate in Marcos’s hands, like there was any doubt Marcos would forgive him. Marcos wasn’t angry at him, and even if he was he couldn’t stay mad for long. Kun looked way too weak and round in the face, even with the beard he desperately tried to grow. Holding a grudge against him felt like kicking a puppy.
“It’s fine,” Marcos said. “And it’s a good thing it’s not your phone that got hacked in the end.”
Kun nodded along, a relieved smile making its way on his face.
“Because then everyone would have known how small you dick is.”
And Marcos watched, delighted, as the smile on Kun’s face dropped and his stupid face morphed into outrage.
“I don’t! It’s not small!”
“I’ve seen it plenty and it is. What was it that girl said? Ah yes, es un manicero.”
Kun got red in his chubby cheeks and the tips of his hair looked like they wanted to fight.
“She lied,” he insisted.
“It’s fine, no need to ashamed. I heard Leo like small penises.”
“I don’t care what Leo thinks!” Kun protested and hey, who would have thought, Marcos was the one who ended up startling with shock.
Now, these were words he hardly thought he’d ever hear coming out of Kun’s mouth.
Kun’s chubby fists were clenched at his sides and he looked like he wanted to rise on his tiptoes to be taller, his body thrumming with agitation.
“I don’t care either,” Marcos said, still a bit taken aback but going with the flow. “I’m alright with your midget dick.”
Kun calmed down a bit, but he still mumbled in protest, “I don’t have a midget dick.”
“You do,” Marcos countered. “But it’s fine, I like your midget dick.”
Kun didn’t look at him, unhappy and happy at the same time as he shuffled on his feet. He didn’t protest the use of midget so Marcos guessed he was happy enough with the rest of his sentence.
“Come on then,” Marcos said, catching Kun’s attention. “I believe you owe me a few dick pics.”
And Marcos had no intention of leaking those, because he may be mocking it, but he had grown fond of the little thing hanging between Kun’s thighs. No way he was sharing this with anyone.